


The Return

by Thurinsen



Category: Cultist Simulator (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 16:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thurinsen/pseuds/Thurinsen
Summary: After all, here I am. What now?





	The Return

I could hear and smell the station before I opened my eyes to see it. The steam, the endless chattering, and unceasing vitality always amazed me. I usually prefer the quiet, peaceful stillness. But here, I would find nothing of that.   
I opened my eyes, locking my vision on the great steel beams holding the rooftop. My gaze wandered, upwards, where the sun trickled its cold winter light through the glass into the hall. A soft breeze blew through the air, bringing more smoke and soot. My fingers cramped, clenching my suitcase as I started making my way through the masses. I tried evading as good as I could, but some collisions are unavoidable. As I went up the cold stairs to the walkway, I looked down and back. I was half expecting someone to follow me, I think, but everyone was held up in their own machinations. Taking two steps at once, I ascended the stairs, just to find myself in another group of people, navigating carefully through them to the relieving outside.   
Stepping through the grand doors, I first took a deep breath, taking the air in, as if drinking it. I took my bag and made my way towards the street, measuring the open space with my steps. I made my way into the city, following my memory to the old building I once called home. By now it started snowing and the cold flakes felt like stings on my skin. I vanished into an alleyway and sat down. The journey, the arrival had been much, much more than I had expected and had taken its tax on me. As I looked down on myself, I could see some snowflakes on my black coat, like distant stars in the night sky.   
Slowly, I closed my eyes and breathed. Once I had gathered myself, I stooped and took my bags and walked out of the alley, across the street to the darkened brick building. Through the windows I could see the shine of burning fire, illuminating the room beyond the fading light of day.   
The glass panes are small, making the need for external light even more important. I fetched my keys, unlocking the squeaking door, bent out of shape by time and wear, closed it behind me and stepped on the stairs.   
But just then, the door to a room on the side opened and all my hope of a silent arrival vanished, as an older woman stepped into the door frame, with a concerned look, that, upon regrettably recognizing me lit up, like a candle in the dark. She put aside her ladle, as she came and tried to hug me, even though I already went up three steps, forcing me to descend again.   
The well-wishes, and how happy she was to see me again annoyed me at the time, seemingly delaying my arrival at my own room, useless and unnecessary. The customs of my kind have always been a mystery to me. Upon seeing how pale I was, I assured her of my well-being and excellent health. That was a lie, but a necessary one, to secure a timely return.   
Indeed, after I managed to get myself away from her, I went up again, taking step by step this time. I can still remember how I used to skip every second one. Back then I could not wait to return, but now every step felt like a journey, each taking a days’ time. The creaking steps, buckling under my feet, slowly arriving and going through the short corridor, the door, black, with its paint slowly splintering and disintegrating, the doorknob, like a sun of polished messing in front of the black paint.   
I closed my eyes, taking my time, taking in the smells and memories from this place. I reached for the key in my pocket, taking it out slowly and deliberately, inserting it in the lock, turning, turning, clicking, and opening.   
I swung the door open, and a room revealed itself in front of me. Dark wood dominated the chamber, the small spiny desk in front of the bleak window, the drapes eaten by moths or otherwise, a bed in the corner, the nightstand.   
I took my first step in, and then saw the wardrobe in the corner to my left, a fine piece of craftsmanship, that my father acquired, not long before my departure. I put down my suitcase.   
This was mine, my room, given to me by my parents, to watch over it, now, that they have moved to the countryside. I closed the door behind me, turning now to the desk and the window. On it, I found a letter, reading it filled me with nostalgia, my mothers writing, in clear ink, a greeting.

I spent the following days accommodating me to this new home, buying different oddities, arranging food and a small earning at a library. It was here I met Natalia, young and fair, studying at the college. She would visit often, sometimes twice a day to read and research. I would great her, she would great me back and then vanish in the rows of shelves and books, only to emerge some hours later, with handwritten notes and a smile on her face. She fascinated me, this dark-haired woman, piercing intellect and a smile that could end the darkest night.

It was the 16th of December when she came to my desk and asked me about a book, ‘On What Is Contained By Silver’, by Poemander, a name I had never heard before. I stooped, walking over to the rows and started searching. I could hear her light steps trailing behind me as I strode along the endless rows, looking for anything similar.   
I asked her what this book was about, and with her clear voice, she gave an answer, which, at the time, made no sense to me. I suspected some kind of fairy tale since its subject was about creatures and beings living behind mirrors, unseen, unheard, unwitnessed. In my confusion, I looked around, to her, and it was as if her eyes glowed in the dimly lit expanse, radiating anticipation.   
To my own regret, I could not find the book. In return, I volunteered to find the book elsewhere, to which she happily agreed, her face lighting up, like a beacon in the dark. I returned to my desk, and after she had gathered her notes, thanked me for my offer and left.   
This evening I went to different libraries and bookstores, trying to find this elusive work, but I was not able to. Nobody had ever heard of it or knew where to find such a book.   
Crestfallen, I took a quick break in a small alley near the river, when in the coming night snow started falling. My head went up, slowly, looking at the sky, walled in by the houses around me. In a sudden stroke of mind, I walked down the alley, towards the maze of buildings.   
I could not tell what compelled me, nor how I found the way, I rather felt that the way found me, when I came upon a small shop, Morland’s. There was no sign, only a dim light through the door and I entered into the hazy room, where I saw a desk, behind it an old woman with greying hair and small glasses that made her blue-grey eyes look piercing and exact.   
As I entered, she stood up, with her left hand on a cane and started walking towards me. She greeted me, asked me to not say my name. Still taken aback from what just happened to me, I asked whether this was a bookstore, to which she replied: “Oh yes, books, I do deal in those, don’t I.” Her face contorted, the old skin giving way to a smile, that made her eyes grow smaller and smaller.   
What kind of books I was searching for, she asked, to which I named the mysterious book my newfound acquaintance was searching for. Slowly, her head tilted down, into a nod, closing her eyes, until she stood upright once again. She went behind her desk through a small curtain into a room behind.   
Only now did I notice the strange room I found myself in. It would have been quite a big room, if not for the many oddities lying around. Shelves full of books, minerals, crystals and globes, racks of maps and scrolls, a mannequin wearing ornate garments that seemed oriental to me, artworks of different scenes from the countryside on the walls and tilted against each other.   
As I made my way through the room, I heard wood below me, concealed by multiple layers of carpets, depicting different stories each, none of which stirred my memories. Just as I was looking at the mannequin’s clothes, she came back into the room. She had already put the book into a paper bag, handed it to me and nodded. I noticed there was no other movement in her hair, it was stiff and unmoving. The paper war crackling in my hands, I could feel the book in it, concealed and hidden well.

I quickly found the way back to my apartment, leaving the dark and creaking hallway behind me. I started reminiscing about the event, how it went down, and what led me here. Clearing my thoughts made me unpack the book from its paper. Before I had realized, I bore the book in my hands, a bright yellow cover, with black inlays.   
‘On What Is Contained By Silver’, by Poemander, said the cover, in both Latin and Greek letters. I must have opened it and read its texts, but I can’t really recall what I read or did that evening, for the next thing I can remember is me waking up in my chair, the book in front of me, my face on the pages. The Sun shone cold and merciless through the stained window, bright, but distant.


End file.
